


May Day

by orphan_account



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: M/M, Male Friendship, Male Slash, Pagan Festivals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:04:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2049219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athelstan and Ragnar celebrate the holiday in their own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	May Day

"Why did you come back?"

The question came softly, almost meekly. It took a moment for Athelstan to realize that, yes, it was Ragnar speaking. He faltered and gave Ragnar what he hoped was a convincing smile.

"What else would I have done?" he asked with simple sincerity.

"You were Ecbert's confidant." Ragnar frowned and narrowed his eyes. "You were back among your own people. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Athelstan paused and stared into the fire pensively before answering. "Perhaps," he conceded. "Perhaps that was what I wanted, at first. At the beginning of my captivity I would have given anything to go back. But you and I have been through so much together — you are my life now."

Ragnar scoffed and snorted with laughter. It was a crude, harsh sound, and one that Athelstan had missed terribly. "You are as sentimental as ever, Priest. By the gods, it will be the death of you!"

"I disagree," Athelstan said quietly. "Sentimentality can be an asset in some instances. Whilst in King Ecbert's captivity, my memories of time spent with you are what kept me from falling into despair."

"Is that so?" Ragnar did not smirk, but raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. "That is not something I expected to hear from you. Though you have become a dear friend, I assumed you were more than happy to return to England."

"Well, you were wrong." Athelstan abruptly yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "It's late. Or rather, I should say, early. How long have we been out here? Shouldn't we go to bed soon?"

"Long enough, I suppose. Have you eaten all of your stew?"

"Yes."

"Then I suggest we retire." He yawned loudly and stood up. His lips curved up in a half-smile as he reached down his hand to grasp Athelstan's. He easily pulled the younger man up beside him, and laid a massive hand on his shoulder. He squeezed languidly and moved his hand to pinch his cheek.

"You are so thin," Ragnar noted disapprovingly. "Now that you are back amongst us, we will have to fatten you up a bit!"

"Stop that!" Athelstan shook out of Ragnar's grip, his face noticeably flushing pink in the dim pre-dawn light. He blinked rapidly and sputtered as Ragnar's eyes shone with amusement. "I – I don't appreciate your humor," he stammered softly.

Completely ignoring his protestation, Ragnar gripped Athelstan's jaw between his thumb and forefinger, pressing gently against Athelstan's pulse as his heart rate sped up.

Ragnar leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly through the scraggly growth of new beard on Athelstan's cheek. 

"Come with me, Athelstan." Ragnar chuckled to feel his former slave lightly shiver under the touch of his lips. "It is almost morn, and I want you to show you a proper Danish sunrise. Come along, priest, and let us gaze out over my new kingdom."  
________________________________________

Athelstan dutifully followed Ragnar as he trekked up the hillside into the forest, clenching his hand tightly in his own. If he lagged for a moment, Ragnar would squeeze the younger man's fingers roughly, several times eliciting a pained cry from the priest. He did not protest, but allowed himself to be half-dragged behind Ragnar, as though he were once again his chattel.

Some time passed, and the sun had fully risen in the sky as the two finally made their way to the top of the mountain. They came upon an expansive forested clearing, and Athelstan was dumbfounded by what he saw in its midst: in front of them was a towering wooden pole, lavishly adorned with ribbons of diverse colors, long strands hanging down from the pole and gently blowing in the morning breeze. Blue, purple, pink, gold and grey and black.

Ragnar grinned at Athelstan's bewildered expression.

"Do you know what today is, priest?"

"I – I believe it's the first of May," Athelstan felt something come over him, a feeling akin to dread mixed with anticipation.

"You are right. Today is May Day, a rather interesting holiday for many of your countrymen. Even, I believe, the ones who adhere to faith in your one god." Ragnar grinned again, the edge of his tongue poking out between his teeth. "I am going to observe this holiday with you, my friend."

"N-no no, you mustn't do that." Athelstan blushed furiously and looked down at the ground. "This practice of erecting a Maypole is sacrilege, an offering to pagan gods. It is practiced not only amongst the Saxon heathens, but also the Celtics in Ireland."

"Oh, you have been to Ireland?"

"Very briefly, in my eleventh year. The Order spent some time in the monastery at Antrim." 

Athelstan's eyes widened as Ragnar abruptly took hold of him, squeezing his shoulders tightly as he steered him toward the Maypole. "If I recall correctly, priest, you have since renounced your fealty to the Christian god."

"No, that is not correct. At least, not completely." Athelstan dug his heels in the grassy soil, futilely trying to resist Ragnar's shoving. "Fine, then. You have gained belief in Odin, Thor, the true gods, alongside your own." 

Ragnar effortlessly pushed the priest forward until he was flush against the pole. He used a handful of ribbons to tightly bind his former slave, wrapping his arms around the man's thin frame to further restrain him.

Athelstan gulped and clenched his eyes shut as Ragnar slipped a hand inside his breeches, probing and fondling his fleshy buttocks. "I do not understand this," Ragnar mused, as he squeezed Athelstan's cheeks between his fingers. "You are a slender man, but your rear is ripe and plump, like a wench's breasts!"

Ragnar laughed softly and slid the breeches further down Athelstan's legs, fully exposing him. Athelstan shuddered visibly as Ragnar nipped gently at his ear, running his tongue over the sensitive lobe. "Do you mind, priest?" he asked, before showering kisses down his friend's neck. "Do you mind if I take you here, as I did back in Wessex?"

Athelstan trembled and nodded once reluctantly, wordlessly. What was he supposed to say to such a thing? That time in Wessex he had been overjoyed to be reunited with Ragnar and the others, imbibing copious amounts of ale which diminished his judgment. Oh, but he had loved the encounter! 

Sin or not, Athelstan willingly allowed himself to be penetrated by a man, as only a woman should be, and he had panted and shrieked and moaned before releasing his seed, a seed endowed to him by God, never to be emitted in defilement of his vow of chastity.

"Good," Ragnar said simply. He reached a hand around the pole and fondled the priest, squeezing and stroking his flaccid shaft into rigidity. It was almost a sort of magic to Ragnar, to feel the sensitive organ slowly harden and thicken beneath the press and stroke of his fingers. He felt a few wet droplets gathering on the head, and brought his fingers to his mouth to lick them, savoring the sweet, salty tang that he remembered from before.

Athelstan whimpered and pressed his face flat against the Maypole. Behind him, he heard the quiet slip of clothing as Ragnar removed his own breeches, and heard him grunt and moan as he began to stroke his own shaft. It was not long before Ragnar too was erect. Ragnar abruptly knelt down and kissed Athelstan's anus, slipping a tongue between the tightly clenched flesh. Athelstan shuddered and whimpered under the ministrations, murmuring in a soft litany of English and Latin. Ragnar could not understand the words, but he could guess to their meaning. He withdrew his tongue and stood, laughing softly as Athelstan tensed up.

"Now, now," Ragnar soothed. He gently kneaded the former priest's buttocks, and slipped a spit-slick finger inside him, followed shortly by another and another. Athelstan panted desperately, reverting to Norse to make his wishes known.

"Please, my lord, make haste! I fear I shall faint if you should continue to delay." Ragnar laughed again, lining up behind Athelstan to penetrate him. "If you say so, priest; I will not delay."

Ragnar thrust forward, passing easily through the moistened barrier. He closed his eyes and groaned in ecstasy as the soft skin clenched and tightened around his shaft. "Oh gods, you are soft!" he panted in Athelstan's ear, reaching around to stroke the man's erect penis. Athelstan commenced to whimper and wail like a whore, his teeth chattering as he shuddered beneath Ragnar's firm body.

"P-p-p-please!" he pleaded desperately, though what exactly he was asking for, he was not entirely sure.

All too soon, he came, his seed spurting wildly on Ragnar's fingers. Ragnar followed suit, thrusting hard against Athelstan, pinning him to the Maypole as he found a violent release. Athelstan closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around the Maypole with a sob, standing immobile even after Ragnar tore loose his bonds.

"Athelstan . . .?" Ragnar's voice came as a soft inquiry, uncharacteristically tender for the Viking tyrant. "Turn around, my friend. We must clean ourselves before we return to camp."

Ragnar pulled his breeches up, clutching and turning Athelstan round to face him with infinitely gentle fingers. The little priest-Viking's face was flushed, and his forehead felt warm under Ragnar's palm. His eyes remained open, but faraway, a dreamy little smile on his lips.

"Athelstan," Ragnar called to him, and softly patted his cheek to get his attention. "Hmm?" Athelstan blinked lethargically, fixing his gaze on Ragnar's as he came back to awareness.

"I need to clean you, my friend. Will you permit me that?"

"Oh yes, of course. . ."

Ragnar leaned down, taking Athelstan's softening penis into his mouth. Ignoring his friend's soft moan, Ragnar suckled the organ, running his tongue over the length of it to remove the sticky remnants of semen.

Once finished, he likewise licked his fingers, smacking his lips as if he were devouring a savory treat. He sat and stared at Athelstan for a moment, admiring his soft dark lashes and ice-blue eyes. The priest stared back evenly, a lazy smile etching on his beautiful face.

"You shall likely have to carry me back. I find my legs are a bit shaky."

"Good." Ragnar grinned impishly, and put his arms around the smaller man to lift him up and cradle him.

"You are such a lightweight that 'twill be no bother. As early as it is, I would still wager that we are the first ones in camp awake. . . Happy May Day, Athelstan." 

What care I if we are seen by the others? Does the Earl and ruler of all Denmark have to explain himself?

"Happy May Day, Ragnar."


End file.
